


The Eve of Destruction

by CarryOn



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Drama, Family, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-23
Updated: 2010-10-23
Packaged: 2017-10-12 20:14:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/128611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CarryOn/pseuds/CarryOn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Episode 21. Earthquakes, tsunamis, erupting volcanoes…destruction as the world has not yet seen. The apocalypse has come and is knocking on the door and the last seal is the only thing that stands between the fall of mankind and Sam and Dean's last stand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Carry On...a Supernatural Virtual Season

Episode 21: The Eve of Destruction

Authors: Annj and Faye Dartmouth

Disclaimer: We don't own Supernatural or it's characters, basically any characters familiar from the show. They are properties of the WB, CW and Eric Kripke.

A/N: Carry On...A Supernatural Virtual Season picks up at the end of All Hell Breaks Loose part one and then ventures on with a what if scenario that takes the Winchester brothers through heaven and hell while fighting to save the remnants of their splintered family. See our bio page for more information.

Episode Summary: Earthquakes, tsunamis, erupting volcanoes…destruction as the world has not yet seen. The apocalypse has come and is knocking on the door and the last seal is the only thing that stands between the fall of mankind and Sam and Dean's last stand.

 **PART ONE**

It is said that dreams are the gateway to your inner world. In Dean's case, his inner world was a happy place.

A _very_ happy place.

The girl in front of him was blond and he knew her name was Tiffany. Just Tiffany, without a last name. Like Cher or Madonna. Her long hair fell in waves over her back to her bottom, which was not at all hidden by something that Dean tied his shoes with. Her skin was the colour of honey, her blond hair the colour of the sun, almost yellow and her eyes... oh her eyes... almond-shaped and the colour of a summer skies.

Her legs were playing the pole like an instrument - a virtuoso really - and the sight filled Dean's mind with symphonies.

"You should charge money for that," a voice whispered beside him and Dean looked to his right, where a chair had appeared out of the blue.

"Bob?" Dean said distractedly. "I'm dreaming."

"Yes, you are. Obviously. And normally you're into brunettes, as I recall."

"This is my dream. Go away!" he murmured, not yet really aware of anything but the soundless orchestra.

He settled back into his cozy armchair, resting his head against a soft pillow and concentrated on Tiffany again, who was doing some kind of a hand stand, her right leg looped around the metal while the other one was pointing towards the ceiling. Her hair was fanned out on the velvet floor, contrasting sharply against the crimson.

Man, she was amazing. If there were prices for head cinema, Dean had definitely earned himself an Oscar.

"Is that even anatomically possible?" There it was again. That annoying voice that had no right to be here.

"Bob? What are you still doing here?" Dean asked, confused now.

"Enjoying the show."

"Go away!" Dean hissed and made a shushing gesture with his hand, slowly but surely realizing the situation he was in and the fact that Bob was here, too. In his dream. The one that turned into something Dean had not intended.

"Why is she wearing a Parka?" Bob wanted to know, tilting his head to the side as if inspecting a rather abstract piece of art. Tiffany was standing on her heightened platform, wrapped in thick clothes looking ready for an expedition to the North Pole. There were large boots on her feet the size of little dolphins and a furry cap sat on her head, hiding her blonde hair.

"Bob!" Dean yelled, now incredulously. "You're ruining it!"

"What? I didn't mean to interrupt," he replied with an innocent smirk, then, to Tiffany. "Go on! I admire your leg work."

"You don't expect..." Dean began, shaking his head. Now he couldn't even be alone in his dreams? That was not cool. "That is so not cool, Bob!"

"Sorry, Dean. Actually, I just wanted to pop in, say hi, have a nice chat and so. You know, the usual."

"The _usual_ usually includes cryptic messages and epic bad news. What is it this time? Want me to rob a bank? Steal a baby? Leave Sam behind?" Dean wanted to know, his annoyance reaching the point where he preferred to wake up. Maybe, this was just a nightmare and if he only ignored Bob long enough, Tiffany would be back. With her brunette sister. Chantalle. "And before you answer. Keep in mind that this is still my dream you're in and I can do anything."

"I'd like to see you try," Bob smiled mischievously, but sobering fast. The popcorn bowl that had occupied his lap only seconds ago was gone and with it the air of amusement and leisure. "You need to go, Dean."

"Go? Go where?"

"Disneyland, of course." Bob rolled his eyes. "Not."

"Then... "

The room started to shake, just a little. Tiny vibrations that made his fingertips tingle. But it was increasing fast, the floor writhing beneath him like he was sitting on a digesting snake.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm not doing anything," Bob answered, shrugging his shoulder.

"Hey, I certainly don't dream about being in an earthquake."

"I didn't think so," Bob answered. "Maybe you should just wake up, you know. Get out of there."

"Get out of wh...?" He didn't finish the sentence because Bob snapped his finger and he woke up so fast, that it felt like someone had ripped him out of his own body.

But it was the panicked voice of his younger brother that fully made him aware of his surroundings. Looking to his right he could see Sam sitting up in his bed, clad in his t-shirt and boxers. His eyes wide and panicked and staring at the place around him.

It was the same view. Just like in his dreams. The floor was buckling, cupboards were crashing, tables were toppling over. The windows, showing the blackness of the night, were rattling and shrieking, the sound like munching on broken glass before exploding and showering both Dean and Sam with a millions shards. Simultaneously they rolled off their beds, bodies hitting the carpet next to each other. The gap between the beds was barely big enough for both of them and Dean could feel Sam's knees pressing against his. Even in the dim light of the moon provided Dean could see fissures starting to paint patterns on the wall, criss-crossing all over the place like an aging skin on fast forward and dust and rubble began to rain down on their heads. Huge cracks were appearing in the walls, drawing random patterns before overstraining the structural integrity of the building.

"Get under the bed!" Dean yelled only seconds before something large missed his head by inches. Sam had already moved, his stupidly gigantic frame vanishing under the furniture and Dean rolled away into the other direction, coughing up dust and dirt and disgusting balls of hair that had probably collected here for decades.

"Sam!" He had to scream over the noise. It sounded like the grumbling of a dragon's stomach, deep and thunderous. It wasn't just the moving earth that had Dean hurtling around like an old puppet in a washing machine. It was like waves of energy crashing into him, rattling his bones. "Sammy?" He screamed again, hoping for a sound - a sign - that Sam was okay but he could barely hear his own voice, even less the one of his brother.

How was this even possible? How could there be an earthquake? Again? They were neither close to the New Madrid Fault Line, nor close enough to the west-coast to be in an area prone to have earthquakes. They were in Kansas of all places.

This wasn't a normal earthquake. This was something else. And it was bad. Apocalyptically bad.

It had begun.

The bed above him jumped, one of the wooden foots breaking and it came down on him with such force that Dean's teeth cracked against each other and the air was pressed out his lungs. According to the weight and the noise, the ceiling had just come down.

He hit his head - hard - when the earth produced an exceptionally energetic sway and the last thing he thought before his consciousness was swapped away was that the Gauls probably had something different in mind when they prophesied the sky to fall upon them.

The first thing he thought when he woke up the next time was that - dammit - he really missed the Tiffany dream. It probably would have made the whole thing more bearable. At least as long as he would have stayed in his dream world. And true, his dream world was a much nicer world than what he woke up to.

The sky had fallen upon them, after all.

Dean blinked his scratchy eyes. They were burning painfully from the grit between his lids and tears were filling his eyes to clear them from the dirt. Blinking again, he wriggled his hands free, rubbing over his face to get a better view. Somewhere far away he could make out a source of light. Just a tiny puddle of a greyish shimmer but it was enough to make him realize that it was near daylight. Everything else lay in complete darkness. Like a tomb.

The analogy made him jump and he bumped his head against something hard. A sharp pain radiated through his skull, seeming intent on escaping trough his eyes but he swallowed the sound of distress that threatened to leave him. He needed to concentrate on his situation, not his physical well being. Because Sam hadn't yet called out for him.

"Sam?" He managed to croak and he coughed up dirt and dust, the movement wreaking havoc in his abused body. "Saam!"

There was no reply. Just the dense, suffocating silence of a crumbled house around him and a strange ringing in his ears. From time to time he could hear scratching sounds, like the rumble was shifting around him in an attempt to fold itself even smaller. Carefully, he crawled towards the place where the gap between the beds had been. The carpet was unrecognizable and when he stretched out his finger he could touch what once had been the ceiling and he was ridiculously glad they had decided to spend the night in a cheap motel that was obviously made of cardboard paper. He was surprised the material wasn't crumbling between his fingers.

"Sam?" He said again, recognizing the bed sheets his brother had laid on. "Come on, man, say something!" He ordered, giving his voice the most commanding tone he could muster. Seconds later he was rewarded with a distressed moan coming from only a few feet away. "Sam? You have to wake up!"

Dean squeezed his body from under the bed, moving slowly and measured to avoid any more shifting of the rumble above him. Having come to a stand on his knees and hands he experimentally tried to lift the large piece of junk blocking their way out. Even though it was made of cardboard paper it was surprisingly heavy and the effort made his head spin. To get out of here, he'd probably need help. And the only help available was lying a few inches to the left and still hadn't said anything remotely coherent to let Dean know that he was okay.

"Sam, if you don't wake up now, I'll brush my teeth with your tooth brush."

"You're welcome to do that. For that, you'd have to find it first," came the muffled reply and Dean couldn't avoid the happy grin. Even though Sam sounded tired and maybe a little banged up, he seemed strong enough to bitch.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm trapped under a bed..." Sam answered, followed by a subdued "Duuh!"

"So, you're fine then?"

"Yeah, think so." There was a short pause, then a sharp intake of breath.

"Sam?"

"I'm okay, I'm okay. I might have sprained my ankle when the stupid bed fell on it."

"That wasn't the bed. That was the ceiling."

"Oh. Thanks for clearing that up man," Sam replied. "Are you okay?"

Dean rechecked his body functions, wriggled his toes and stretched his neck. Then said: "I'm peachy but I really would like to get out of here. You up to it?"

"I thought you'd never ask."

Sam's hand appeared from under the bed frame and Dean grabbed it. "Okay, then let's check out of here. The service is an abomination."

It took them a while as well as a few curses and near death experiences before they found a place stable enough to crawl through and climb upwards. What they found made them want to crawl back again.

The world around them lay in pieces.

The motel was a mountain of debris. Large clouds of dust were still rising into the air, covering the whole area in a dirty haze. Across the street, where mere twelve hours ago a 24/7 had stood it looked like a bomb had found its target. Pieces of wood and other rubbish were scattered all over the streets as far as they could see and there were people on the street and climbing in the ruin. Some lay around like they had fallen asleep where they stood. But Dean knew better. Knew better than hoping that an earthquake like that wouldn't claim victims.  
Only slowly, a few sounds filtered through the chaos and all of the sudden Dean realized how silent it was. Besides the screaming of the few hurt and some random calls of people searching for friends and family, there was deadly calm around them. No wind, no birds, not even the sound of traffic. Now it felt like a well-meant irony that this town had already been dead before.

The sun was rising in the east, unnaturally large and blood-red. Like a ball dipped in paint.

All but peaceful.

Just the deadly calm before the real storm.

-o-

The town was tiny with just a few constant inhabitants. Actually, it wasn't really a town at all. Just an agglomeration of houses and shops and some scattered farms and if Sam and Dean hadn't had to find a gas station, they never would have ended up here. One might call it luck. Dean called it...

"Just freaking perfect..."

"This is really bad," he could hear Sam whisper next to him and as they carefully made their way over the battleground towards where they had parked the Impala. Or at least, where Dean hoped to find the Impala. Preferably in once piece.

The car, though it seemed otherwise perfectly fine, was covered by a thin sheen of dust and grit and the lot it was parked on had large cracks in its surface, forming a basin like the ground under it had collapsed.

"We..." Sam began, hobbling next to Dean without taking his eyes of their surroundings but Dean could see from the way his brother's Adam's apple was bobbing up and down, that Sam was in a mild state of shock that had little to do with the actual quake but more with the implications it foretold. "We have to find out if this is just a local phenomenon. You got a phone, by any chance?" He asked and cursed when he put pressure on his sprained ankle. Quickly reaching out, Dean steadied him and was glad about the fact that last night he had fallen asleep fully clothed. Which meant that the keys to his car were safely stuck in the back pocket of his jeans.

"Left it in the car," Dean answered, already opening the door of the Impala and taking the cell out of the glove compartment. Unfortunately, it didn't do the any good. He reached neither Bobby, nor Ellen. The lines were dead and Dean stared at the electronic device in his hand as if it was responsible for the whole mess.

When he finally started the engine it purred like a cat and nothing indicated any kind of damage. Still, it took them more than one hour to leave the town behind. There were only a few people on the street and more than once, Dean jumped out to help, carrying rubble from the street. They passed some ambulances - three in total - as well as a number of fire trucks which were doing their best to get trapped people out of collapsed houses. Luckily, drywall was common construction material as far as the brothers could tell.

When the only thing that remained of the place was its image in the rear view mirror, the oppressive silence in the car became almost unbearable.

"Do you think...?" Sam began but he trailed off, knowing very well that Dean understood.

"I don't know, Sam."

"The seals..."

"I don't _know_ , okay!" Dean interrupted harshly and Sam fell silent again. Immediately, Dean felt guilty. It wasn't Sam's fault. Nothing was. "How's the ankle?" Dean asked, hoping to distract Sam a little. Like there was any kind of distraction from the apocalypse.

 _Hey! Let's go watch a movie! - Naah, don't want to. Doomsday is so distracting._

Yeah, that was a conversation Dean wanted to have right now.

"Sprained. Hurts a little. But it's going to be fine." Sam's voice was small and void of any real emotion. Like he had shut down. Like his brain had disconnected to run a full scan on its own and for the time being, Dean was okay with it. It gave him time to do some thinking on his own.

What did he know? First, it was an earthquake. Could be coincidence. ( _Yeah, sure!_ ) Maybe there was a fault line somewhere close and they were just panicking for nothing. And the dead cell...well, could be aliens, right?

Right!

He resisted a hysterical bubble of laughter and could feel Sam's worried eyes on him, ignoring it.

He was not dealing very well, was he?

He sighed, concentrating back on the street which was almost untouched. At times, there were cracks in the asphalt and when Dean followed their trail, he could see them going on left and right, carving through the concrete like diamonds on glass. If this is how the planet looked like now, Dean just didn't want to know it.

They didn't meet another car on the street for miles and miles and Dean wasn't sure that's because this part of the States was just plain empty or because mankind had fallen into the pit all at once, swallowed by the earth.

It was two hours later when Sam, who had started fumbling with the buttons of the radio, finally got a signal. The man was talking rapidly and it them a few seconds to actually identify the words as English.

"Dr. Philip Ranshom, professor at the Boston University."

"Hello," a second man said, his voice more throaty and rumbling than the first.

"Is there any explanation yet?"

The reception was weak and it was lucky they had picked up the talk in the first place. Static was overlaying their words but it was clear enough to give Sam and Dean the information they feared yet need.

The earthquakes, as in plural, had destroyed a great number of large cities all over the country. The rest of the planet wasn't faring much better.

At this point of the broadcast, Dean slowed the car and they came to a halt on the withered side of the street. Their eyes were directed at the radio. As if staring hard enough could make the information less true and mind-numbing. Sam shook his head a few times but didn't say anything while Dean had to will himself calm, feeling like he should be stumbling out of the car to kick something.

Earthquakes, as far as the professor in the radio knew, weren't the only evil tidings these days. Resulting tsunamis had wiped out isles, claiming hundreds and thousands-probably millions of people on nearby coasts. Greenland and Iceland and large parts of Japan had all but been bombed away by the explosion of volcanoes.

So much for the unknown fault line theory, Dean thought numbly, turning the volume up. The aggressive static hurt their ears like nails on a blackboard but they didn't care. They couldn't stop listening. It was like watching a car crash in front of you and the seconds were turning into eons while your body, your whole being refused to cooperate.

Abruptly, the connection was broken only to come back a few seconds later. Dean let his breath out, not even realizing he had held it. According to the meager information they were getting due to the collapsed communication - there was no internet, phone lines were mostly dead and TV and radio were sending whatever information they got, as long as they could.

"... further earthquakes have shaken the states of Arkansas, Kentucky, Ohio. We have been informed about numerous tornadoes in the Midwest as well as a serious flooding along the Mississippi..."

"So, can you give any explanation? How is that possible?" The anchorman wanted to know, sounding oddly like he wanted to know about tomorrow's weather.

 _Expect raining frogs and bursts of fiery thunder, people. So don't forget your umbrellas._

"... don't know, Jim. It is impossible, if you ask me. No question!" The professor assured and Sam huffed, while the man kept talking. "This is either God's idea of a bad joke or this is the end of the world as we know it."

Dean couldn't help it. He snorted, pressed his fist against his lips to stop the grin widening but there was something in his stomach, something large and painful and with its own will. It rose up to his chest and burst out. Laughter, loud and rumbling, and Sam looked at him as if - after all these years of horror, loss and tragedy - he'd finally lost it once and for all.

"What's so funny?" Sam wanted to know disbelievingly while tears were sliding down Dean's cheeks and his fingers clutched the wheel making his knuckles stand out like the bones were close to jutting out of the skin. He couldn't help it. There was something so strangely bizarre and undeniably final in their situation yet the only thing Dean could think about was _Hell, what does that mean for my M &M supply? _

-o-

M&Ms were the least of their problems, they realized when the fuel indicator neared the 1/4 limit. They found a lonely station, some miles outside Topeka where a man stood behind the counter, a tooth pick between his lips and a beer can in his hands. He didn't look up when Dean entered, eyeing the products which seemed to have survived the last millennia before handing the guy money. So, obviously the apocalypse hadn't yet found its way to this place or the guy just didn't care. From the stoned way the man was looking, Dean supposed it was the latter because there was a radio playing in the background informing about hurricanes and riots and useless scientists.

Deciding to play it safe, Dean filled canisters, bought all the snacks provided and rigorously ignored the clerk's raised eyebrows.

Packed with as much gas as they could afford and more Snickers, Mars- and Powerbars, half a dozen bags of M&Ms and three family packs of o-juice they got back on the road. The street in front of them stretched as the day passed by and the only other cars they met were two trailers, one shabby pick-up and a few military vehicles which were probably on their way to some of the rare large cities.

Dean didn't even want to think about the chaos that was surely prevailing in the areas of denser population.

They had turned off the radio. Most of the noise had been static anyway. Nothing but a screeching and moaning sound that had hurt their ears only randomly interrupted by some coherent words about economic break downs, riots with unnumbered casualties and general scenarios of hell on earth.

The sun was standing low in the east when Dean had the glorious idea to put a cassette in the cassette deck but it felt like a punch in the stomach when the first beats of "Highway to Hell" sounded in the cramped space of the Impala. Sam punched the button with much more force than necessary and the tape shot out of the deck and on the bench where it stayed. It seemed too much effort to put it back into the shoebox in which Dean collected his musical treasures... or torture devices as Sam had insisted more than once.

Time seemed like something gooey during the long hours of driving and it took Dean more than half the day to even realize where he was driving more or less unconsciously. Almost surprised he stated "We're going to the Roadhouse," at which point Sam stared at him as if he just grown a second head.

"Uhm... yeah. I knew that."

"I..." Dean began, trying to distract Sam from his own feeling of total helplessness. What was it that the Roadhouse had to offer? Answers? Probably not. The only thing they would find was a pissed Ellen, possibly an agitated Jo and a handful of hunters who'd have no second thoughts about blaming the whole fucked up mess on the two brothers. "I'm not really sure that's a good idea," he finally finished the sentence and-if that's even possible-Sam's frown got deeper.

"Did you hurt your head when the ceiling fell down on you?"

With that, the conversation was over and silence took hold while the shadows lengthened.

How could they can be sure the sun would come up again in the morning? Dean pondered, squinting his eyes against the red sea of light that looked like it wanted to vaporize the horizon.

The road got dustier as the miles went by and darkness was quickly settling when they reached Harvelle's Roadhouse. Relieved that it was still more or less standing, Dean parked the car on the parking lot and got out, inspecting the damage that had been caused by what looked like another earthquake. Or maybe it was the same. It wasn't like Dean was a big earthquake geek who knew about this kind of stuff besides what he had experienced on his own or watched on TV in movies like _2012_ where even the most disastrous end of world scenarios included a touch of romantic heroism with impossible happily ever-afters.

He wished the world had ended like that. With one huge Big Bang and not like this. In a slow, almost calculating process of steady destruction. Ecological disasters here and there, ruined cities and hopeless rescue missions. Scientists who were clueless, people who were aimless. A world that suddenly felt homeless despite everything. Turned out, the end of the world was slowly creeping its way into their lives.

And the Roadhouse was the perfect proof of that. Because it was still standing. Walls straight, even though the large neon sign was hanging on just one hinge, dangling in a non-existent breeze from a metal rod. The windows were smashed and the shards were scattered on the outside. As if something had exploded from the inside.

His stomach was rolling as he yelled, loudly, "Hello?"

The only reply was the squeaking of the swinging Roadhouse banner and the sound of the Impala door falling shut as Sam got out of the car.

"Ellen?" Sam tried and even in the dim twilight Dean could see his own fears for their friends safety mirrored in his brother's face. Making sure his gun was stuck in the waistband of his jeans, Dean took a few cautious steps. There were five cars parked in the lot plus the Impala. There had to be people around somewhere. Maybe hiding. The atmosphere though was so empty and vast that for just a second Dean wondered if they were the last humans on earth.

Anxious with what he would find behind the closed door Dean reached out to open it when the sound of a gun cocking made him freeze.


	2. The Eve of Destruction Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **PART TWO**

**PART TWO**

"Don't move!" a small voice ordered, shaky and a little bit too high-pitched for Dean to actually take it seriously. So Dean didn't even think about not moving. He lowered his outstretched arm and turned around. Slowly and carefully though, but still he moved.

"I said don't move!" the voice repeated and this time there was a distinct hint of panic in it.

"Not moving," Dean countered, putting on a sloppy smile and exchanging a quick glance with his brother, who was standing closer to the boy. _Don't hurt him, it's just a kid,_ Sam said with just the blink of an eye. Because he wasn't more. Just a kid. He couldn't be much older than seventeen. Eighteen tops. And he didn't really look like he knew which side of his rifle was front and back.

"Who are you?" the boy asked and his voice sounded just a little stronger.

"We're friends," Sam answered. "Friends of Ellen. We wanted to..."

"Sam? Dean?" Sam's face lit up in relief as Jo walked around the corner, quickly pointing the muzzle of her rifle towards the ground as she recognized the boys.

"Jo!" Sam all but yelled. All danger of being accidentally shot forgotten, he rushed towards the young blond hunter and hugged her whereas the boy still had his rifle directed pointedly at Dean. Either, he was very slow on the uptake or he really didn't like Dean. From the way his hands shook with adrenaline, probably the former.

"Luke, put the gun down!" Jo bellowed, finally, and Dean threw him a pissed look, making it clear that he didn't like being on this side of a gun. Especially not by some wanna-be hunter still wet behind his ears.

"Sorry," the boy, Luke, murmured and let the rifle sink.

"Dammit, Jo, where did you find this greenhorn?" Dean wanted to know after he too greeted her with a quick hug. "Did you open up a pre-hunter school?"

"You're a jerk, Dean Winchester," she hissed, but there was humor in her voice and a friendly twinkle in her eyes. "But I'm used to that."

"Used to jerks?" Sam asked.

Jo looked at Sam and then, with an evil grin, at Dean. "Used to _you_ being a jerk."

"Ow, that hurt," Dean replied and the peaceful bantering quickly changed into something painful, realistic.

"Ellen okay?" Sam asked as they followed Jo around the house to the back where the small cabins were situated. The last time they had been here was still rather vivid in his memories and just as the memory came up, Dean saw his brother look uncomfortably back to the place where one of the hunters had been gruesomely murdered. It was probably just his imagination but he could have sworn he smelled a whiff of something metallic.

Jo crossed the area with long strides and the greenhorn had problems following. "Mom's fine. We all hid in the bunker after ..." She trailed off. "You know."

"Earthquake?" Sam wanted to know.

"Amongst other things."

"What do you mean?" Sam asked as she leaned down to grab for something hidden under loose earth and grass. Sam quickly assisted her and together they opened a heavy wooden trap door. It was well enough hidden that Dean and Sam never would have found it on their own. Grown over with weeds, it was only recognizable by a large metal ring with which they heaved the slab open. Cool, stale air rushed by as they climbed down a few steps.

"What other things?" Sam asked again when Jo still didn't answer. "And what bunker?"

The young blond hunter shrugged her shoulders. "Got attacked by some creatures. Some, I've never seen before. It was like they had formed a freaking army. Wolves, at least three Black Dogs and half a dozen other creatures that we haven't even got a name for. They killed most of the customers shortly after the earthquake had hit. Mom and I, we got the remaining guests down here. "

"What is here anyway?" Dean, who was walking a few meters behind them, piped up and touched the wall. "Did you expect an atomic war or something?"

The tunnel they were walking in was at least five feet wide but not high enough for Sam to stand upright. There were flickering lights attached to the walls and next to them more sigils and signs than Sam could gather with just one look. The corridor ended with another heavy door which, Sam suspected, was made of solid steel.

"Actually, the bunker was Bobby's idea." Jo smiled and when they reached the door, she knocked against it in a complicated rhythm which made Dean snort with amusement.

"Did you just knock _Don't let me be misunderstood_ against the door as the secret 'open sesame' sign?"

"What? We can hide in a cellar but at least we hide with style." Jo grinned and the door swung open to reveal Ellen. The older woman first looked at her daughter, then recognized Sam and Dean.

"Sam, Dean!" She greeted them enthusiastically but, as an undertone, Sam could hear a relief that made him blush.

"Hey, Ellen," he winked awkwardly, taking a step backwards when she strode forwards to hug him-right before boxing him against the shoulder.

"Ow, what was that for?"

"For not having heard anything from you for ages."

"We did try calling you," Dean tried to defend them.

Ellen just raised her eyebrows. "Let me guess. You tried calling us _after_ the shit hit the fan."

"Well..." Dean begun and his grimace was all Ellen needed. She boxed the older Winchester against his shoulder as well.

"Hey," Dean complained, rubbing the place at his chest. "At least Sam here got a proper hug to go with it."

The room Sam and Dean found themselves in was big, at least 30 square meters. The walls were covered with sigils just like the tunnel outside and the only light came from a few naked light bulbs that were hanging from the ceiling. Sam could see three doors, one of them being the one they had just entered through. As Ellen watched him eye the doors, she explained: "One sleeping room, one for the weapons and the supplies." There was a hint of pride in her voice and Sam had to admit, it was justified.

"Ellen, this is amazing. When... why..."

"Well...," Ellen blushed a little and didn't meet Sam's eyes as she explained, "After your last visit we decided to get a safe place in case of..."

"Us coming for another visit?" Dean interrupted and from his expression Sam could see that it was only half in joke.

Ellen huffed. "It would be too easy to answer with a yes, trust me." She glanced at her daughter who was talking with Luke on the other side of the room. "But I... I needed Jo to be safe somewhere."

"We understand," Sam said, smiling sadly. "So, this place..."

"Is safe. We even built salt lines in the walls. We got it cleaned inside out with a number of cleaning spells and the walls are pure iron."

"Nice." Dean nodded appreciatively. "What about them?" A group of people was sitting huddled together around a small table staring at a tiny radio that rattled and coughed with a painful static.

"A few hunters who were at the Roadhouse. Some more civilians. Some are in the other rooms while some..." She made a pause. "... we couldn't convince to stay. They left."

That was the moment when the radio blared back to life with a loud whine. There was a painful yelp that sounded like a hurt animal and instead of the static they could hear a newscaster.

 _"... as well as New York along direct fault lines. Military forces are trying to get back some order. Scientists now have affirmed the total number of seven independent earthquakes, three of them above 8 on the Richter scale. And that is in North America alone. The resulting tsunamis obliterated most of the islands in both oceans, taking out portions of the African coastline and Asia. There's still no word on casualties..."_ The man ranted, his voice void of emotion as if he had told this already a hundred times and every single time it had lost some part of its terror. _"According to some messages from Europe and Africa, mass suicides have occurred in sect-like communities and the Vatican has been evacuated after thousands of people stormed..."_ The static rose and the man who had held the radio shook it, held it higher in the air as if it would get him a better reception. Indeed, it did. _"Watch out, people."_ The statement was followed by a meaningful silence and another burst of static, this time no wriggling or changing location could change that.

-o-

The small group of hunters and civilians was getting along fine if not talking was any sign. The mood in the small bunker was down and it didn't take long for Dean to get nervous. While Sam was animatedly talking with Ellen, Jo was watching him intensely. Her eyebrows formed a tight V and her trigger finger was rapidly tapping against the barrel of her gun, which she was holding across her lap.

"I know how you feel," she sighed and walked over to him, letting herself sink down on a wooden box. When Dean had curiously opened it he had found food cans, water bottles and ammunition, neatly stacked with the ammo on top so if need be, it was easy to reach.

"This is quite a thing you managed here." With a vague gesture and a swift look around he included their surroundings and Jo just shrugged her shoulders.

"It was Mom's idea and Bobby's plans. I learned about it when Mom asked me to choose the interior design." At Dean's appalled grimace she chuckled quietly. "Just kidding. I just came home a few weeks ago. Needed to recuperate after a mean interlude with a Chupacabre in Oakland. Pulling her sleeve above her shoulder he saw a nasty scar, still a little swollen and pink with ongoing healing.

"Ouch!"

"Yeah, that's what I thought. Anyway, I came back to get better. Get back together with my Mom, you know?" She made a pause and lowered her head, staring intently at her folded hands. "I'm glad I did. I don't want to be anywhere else right now."

"Yeah," Dean nodded. "I know what you mean." He looked at Sam.

"So, you think..." Jo began and Dean could hear that what she was about to say she didn't really wanted to speak out loud. "This is it? The end of the world as we know it?"

Dean couldn't help it. He snickered into his fist, earning a weird glance from Jo and he shook his hands.

"Sorry, it's just... Bob would so like that?"

"Bobby?" Jo asked, confused.

"No, not Bobby. Just Bob. Annoying little dude with the decency of a pimp..." Dean trailed off as something flickered across his face. His eyes narrowed and there were creases on his forehead for just a second. He had put this off long enough. When he spoke, his voice was loud enough that Sam could hear it. "He was in my dream."

That got Sam's attention. His brother stared at him cluelessly despite being in the middle of a talk with Ellen. "What?" he asked from across the room, his conversation with Ellen clearly forgotten.

"Bob, he was in my dream."

"Wha...? You mean, you dreamt about Bob? Should I worry?"

Indignantly, Dean jerked away and made a disgusted face. "Dude! No, I mean, he _was_ in my dream the other night, before... you know... the shit hitteth the fan. As a freaking house guest, or something."

"Bob _was in your dream_?" Sam checked, his voice clearly indicating his disbelief but at least now his attention was completely at Dean.

"Yeah, he admired the dancer's leg work..." There was a dreamy look on Dean's face but not dreamy enough to hide the confusion. "He said we needed to go... somewhere."

"Who's that Bob guy?" Jo wanted to know, now a little annoyed about the way the boys were talking about someone she had no knowledge about.

"He's... a friend." Dean shook his head. "Just some weird guy who shows up in times and places when he's least expected and even less welcome."

"Okay, so Bob wants us to go somewhere but he forgot to mention where. How convenient." Sam threw his hands into the air and Dean shrugged his shoulders again.

"Well, in his defense, there was an earthquake before we could deepen our talk."

"That's still..." Sam's bitch face was so familiar that Dean immediately felt his agitation begin to subside.

"I guess he'll be back if it was important." Dean said nonchalantly, and leaned his back against the wall. He wanted to believe that was true. Closing his eyes he took a few deep breaths and tried to get rid of the feeling of the walls closing in on him. "I... gotta go get some fresh air," He finally announced and stood up before he could get an answer.

-o-

They spent the night at the Roadhouse. Or in Dean's case, in its close vicinity. He left the bunker in time to watch the sun vanish behind the horizon. The sky was a deep red like it was a burning ceiling, its intensity so sharp that Dean felt the heat of it on his face even after the sun had long gone. Taking a deep breath, he leaned his hip against the Impala and let his hand wander along its chilling curves and slid into the driver seat, putting his head against the head rest to close his eyes for just a few minutes. He could hear the peaceful sounds from outside. Crickets chirping and some early night birds tweeting. If only he pushed away his dark thoughts far away, he could almost believe that this was just another peaceful night out camping. He had Sam, he had the Impala. Ellen and Jo were alright and the rest... they could work around.

He took a deep breath. The car smelled familiar and intimate enough that it sent goosebumps all over his skin. Leather, stuffy clothes, gunpowder and Sam.

And hamburger.

He opened his eyes and found himself in a diner. Like the car, it felt and looked familiar and it didn't take long for Dean to remember.

"I'm dreaming," he said out loud, just to test his voice and see if someone would answer.

"'course you are."

"I know this diner."

"'course you do."

Bob was standing next to him with his arms across his chest and feet apart, looking like a general observing a battle field. "Sometimes I wonder why you and your brother haven't died of food poisoning yet. This place is disgusting."

The counter was stained with countless beer marks the size of glasses. The tables looked even more dirty. French fries were still lying between salt and pepper caster and ketchup had dried on old plates and cutlery. The light over their heads was flickering steadily and flies and moths were swirling around it. Through the windows that were pasted with ads and wanted and "who has seen" posters, Dean could only see darkness.

"Believe me, this place served the freaking best burgers I'd had in a long time," Dean stated and grinned. He knew he was dreaming and he also knew that, as soon as he woke up, this dream would be forgotten.

"What are we doing here?" he asked, looking at the angel. "And, more precisely, what are _you_ doing here?"

"I could ask you the same," Bob replied but didn't look at Dean. And when he followed his gaze, he also could see what Bob was looking at.

His other self, a few weeks younger, was standing at the counter, balancing two plates. One salad, one burger. He just stood there, staring into a booth where Sam was sitting, leaned over a book, deeply immersed into the words and unaware of the fact that he was being watched.

"What the hell am I doing there?" Dean wondered even though the memory was still fresh in his mind. But there was a thought, a truth that he couldn't grasp. It was slipping away so fast that within the blink of an eye the scenery changed. So fast and so profound that Dean stumbled and reached out to hold himself upright on the sleeve of Bob's jacket.

"What the..."

All the remaining words were lost somewhere between his brain and mouth and he just stared at the terrible battle that was unfolding in front of him. Standing on top of a large mountain he was looking down into a valley that reached far to the horizon and beyond.

"Dean, listen..." He felt the angel's hands on his shoulder. Could feel himself being swirled around so that he was facing the other man who was talking now agitatedly. His mouth moving rapidly and his eyes boring into him. But Dean couldn't help but let his own eyes wander back to the events on the foot of the mountain. Lakes of lava were snaking their way through the landscape and large columns of poisonous sulfur were climbing towards a black sky. Yellow flashes of lightning were breaking through the darkness, illuminating the clouds for the fraction of a second. With every flash Dean could make out movement on the far away ground. Creatures that were yielding weapons. Fighting. The clanking of swords and armors was audible, even up here. Not just audible, it was earsplitting. Noise was all around him, screams full of anger, hate or pure terror, and he resisted the urge to put his hands over his ears because Bob was still trying to tell him something.

"Dean, you need to listen," the angel yelled, his eyes boring into Dean like it wasn't words he wanted to give, but holes in his eyes. "You need to go!"

"Where?" Dean answered and he could barely understand his own words. "Bob! Tell me where I need to go."

"... Tower!" Bob said but it was more or less just the movement of his lips that made Dean understand. "Devil's Tower."

He started shaking him hard enough that Dean's teeth were rattling and he tried to twist himself out of his companion's clasp.

"Dean, you need to wake up..."

He bit tongue hard enough that he yelped and opened his eyes to find himself staring into the worried face of Ellen who only now stopped shaking him.

"Are you awake?"

"Yeah, thanks to you." Not sure whether he was grateful for it or not he blinked a few times, realizing that it was dark already. He must have been asleep for a while now and, through the windshield, he saw Sam and the young boy standing nearby, probably out on the watch. "What's wrong?" he asked when he saw the worry in the Ellen's face.

"We got some radio input over the last few hours. Looks like it's from a town nearby."

"And?"

She arched her eyebrows, looked over her shoulder at Sam and the boy and back at Dean. "Maybe you should hear this yourself."

The radio equipment down in the bunker looked like it came direct form World War I and Dean was surprised it was functional at all. One man - from the scarred looks, definitely a hunter - and Jo were sitting next to it, twiddling with the buttons. Other people were lying on folding beds, which were positioned against the walls of the room. Besides their constant snores there was only the static from the radio. Until... a female voice could be heard, almost covered by the wild noise. But it was a human voice. A panicked human voice. The woman was sobbing heartbreakingly, hiccupping 'Hello's and 'Can anyone hear me?'s. She said more but Dean could barely understand. The only words that clearly stood out before she fell into another sobbing fit were 'all dead'.

"How do you know it's from a town nearby?" Dean asked, looking first at Jo, then at Ellen.

"She named it. Said something about the town house being run down," the younger woman answered. "It's just a few miles north," she added with a glance at her mother. "I really think we should..."

"No!" Ellen interrupted her. "You're staying here!" Her tone didn't allow protest and so Jo pressed her lips into a thin line and squinted her eyes at her worried parent.

"But, Mom..."

"No!" It wasn't Ellen who had interrupted her this time but Dean. "Your mom's right. You should stay here. Sam and I we will check it out."

"I'll be coming with you," the unknown hunter, who had worked the radio, jumped in.

"And you are?" Dean asked, hoping he didn't come across as hostile as his voice lead to assume.

"Ned Landing. The young Skywalker over there..." He pointed at Luke, who stood a few feet aside next to Sam. He was two heads smaller than Dean's brother and his body language didn't exactly show self-confidence. "... is my nephew."

They shook hands and ten minutes later they were already on the radio. Two other hunters had decided to accompany them and while Dean was following the small autocade over dusty roads, dawn was slowly creeping along the horizon. Surprised, Dean looked at the clock and realized that it was already half past five. He had slept at least a few hours.

"Did you get any sleep?" he asked his brother while something nibbled at the back of his mind. A memory. It was distracting enough that he didn't even hear Sam's reply until the younger man slapped him against the shoulder.

"Hey, did you hear me?"

"What?... Uhm, yeah, sure."

"Great. What did I say?"

Dean grimaced. "Something about a pea under your matress?"

"Funny. What's up? What're you thinking about?"

"I had another dream, I think. Bob wanted us to go... somewhere." Angry, he hit his hand on the wheel. "Why can't the guy just write an email like every other normal person on this planet?"

"Go somewhere?"

"Some... mountain, I think." His forehead crunched up in confusion as he tried to remember. "With some weird name like... Evil's Bark or Devil's Home or something."

"Devil's Tower?" Sam asked and Dean's breath stuck in his throat as the words sent a chill all over him.

"Yeah, exactly. What is that?"

"Close encounter of the third kind, Dean," Sam grinned. "We used to love that movie."

"Yeah, so. What's that got to do with the Devil's Tower?"

"It's a monolith, a national monument actually in Wyoming. I'm pretty sure we've seen it already, passing by."

"Okay. So Bob obviously wants us to go there," Dean explained and threw Sam a look, which was being ignored. "Not that we plan to go there any time soon, right?"

Sam shrugged his shoulders. "You heard the woman on the radio. I really think that should be our priority right now. People out there need our help."

Their eyes met and no further words were needed. They had a job to do.

-o-

The day turned out long. Much longer than the early start had suggested. When they reached the town, it was empty, devoid of life-literally speaking. The city sign welcoming new visitors in town was smeared with something red, probably blood. Next to it, bodies were hung on electricity posts like bizarre memorials. At least they knew where blood had come from.

The streets were empty and only a few cars, some of them with doors spread wide open or even hauled upside down, were randomly scattered on the mainstreet. The sky was grey and a surreal fog had blanketed the whole city. A ghost town. Nothing could be heard as the three cars full of hunters-two SUVs and the Impala-reached the city center where traffic lights were blinking hectically.

 _Yellow-yellow-yellow-yellow._ A steady rhythm.

A restaurant, a grocery store and a laundromat, all doors blown wide open with no one inside. A few chairs and tables were thrown on the sidewalk and blood was spattered against the windows from the inside. But no more bodies.

Smoke was billowing from a few windows on the second floors but it didn't look like it would spread. The fog was making everything damp and moist and when they left their cars, a steady drizzle was starting to fall.

Eerie silence engulfed them, more threatening than any war cries, and they collected in a circle, each hunter with their backs to theirs midst to keep everything around them in plain sight. They were heavily armed. Dean could make out most of them were shotguns while Ned was holding an axe as well as a large machete in his hands, obviously expecting close contact fights. His nephew was pressing the same gun to his chest he had greeted Sam and Dean with last night. The young man looked terrified and Dean could relate to that.

"Anyone else gets Silent Hill vibes?" the boy joked, his voice shaky and a little too high.

The next events started with the appearance of a single demon. A young woman, not older than sixteen or seventeen, whose hands were hanging loosely at her side, blood dripping from her fingers into a quickly growing puddle. Standing in the doorway to the laundromat _Quick'n'Clean 24/7_ , she smiled at them with sparkling teeth. Seconds later they were surrounded.

Like a dam had broken, supernatural creatures were flooding the town, running them over like gallons of water, and it was all they could do and find shelter in the local church. Not without losing two men already. The church was poorly barricaded with wooden planks over the windows from the inside. Three families were huddled in far corner and when they entered, one of the women got up, walked towards them and her face was shining with hope.

"You heard us?"

Dean merely nodded as he and Sam closed the door behind them, leaning against it when the demons started pounding for entrance. Ned's nephew was bleeding heavily from a wound in his neck and his uncle's face was grim and smeared with blood. Most of it not his own.

"There's too many," Ned stated needlessly. "We're sitting ducks in here."

"I know that? Any better ideas?"

They were in way over their head and they knew it. This was the apocalypse after all. What had they been thinking? Go in, shotgun ready and kill the baddies? That was even risky on a normal day. This... was anything but normal.

Dean could hear the "civilians" cry and he met Sam's gaze as they changed thoughts without saying a word. They were trapped. Fate though, still had things in store for them and they didn't have to wait long until the sound of fighting and loud voices bellowing orders lured them outside. Another group of hunters had arrived. Actually, more than a group. Almost a small army including military equipment. Without further hesitation, he rushed out of the church to dive headfirst into the turmoil and according to the heavy steps behind him, Sam was following close behind.

Half a dozen demons had surrounded both brothers within seconds and if it weren't for the assistance of the new arrivals Dean doubted they would have made it. It didn't take long and his hands were slippery with blood, both his own and the blood of those poor bastards whose bodies were serving as meatsuits for blood-craving monsters. He swirled around, bringing a zombie-like creature to its knees with a high kick against its head and yelled "Watch out!" when another zombie was about to jump on his brother's back. Adrenaline was rushing through his body, banishing everything else but the concentration on _kick, hit, turn, kick, hit, turn_. Still, the feeling of helplessness was slowly weighing him down, tiring him not just physically.

Over his brother's shoulder he shot one demon in the head, right between the eyes and it merely stumbled backwards only to attack again, more vicious than before. "Down!" someone yelled and Dean and Sam responded immediately, falling on their knees right as something hot flew over their heads. Brain matter, blood and ripped clothes were flying through the air as at least six or seven demons were simply exploding like fire crackers.

There was one thing Dean had to hand to the military - their weapons were definitely effective.

The fight resulted in a sad victory with Sam and Dean miraculously alive but thirteen other hunters dead, Luke and his uncle among them. The town-once probably homely and alive with Sunday picnics and street festivals-was now mutilated with corpses paving its streets. Blood red rivers were gushing into the gutters and the disgusting smell of death and decay hung in the air.

"This is not our world anymore," one of the military strangers said, his voice subdued and almost as dead as the town itself, as they watched the battle ground while the sun was vanishing into the west. "It's theirs."

Dean silently agreed.

 _Brave new world._

Evacuating the survivors and burning the dead lasted well into the night and when Sam and Dean finally got into their car, they didn't look behind, strangely aware that they were leaving something behind.

Hope.


	3. The Eve of Destruction Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **PART THREE**

**PART THREE**

The moon was red.

Rising over the horizon line, it gleamed with the blood of humanity as the earth cried out.

Cried and howled, _"Save us! Spare us from Your Wrath!"_

The night swallowed their pleas, covering them with a growing roar.

The seas parted, the mountains cracked and shifted, rising above the earth and reaching new heights.

From where Dean was standing, it was almost too terrifying to make sense of. He was used to insurmountable odds-that was sort of all part of the Winchester way-but this-this was too much.

He could still hear the yelling, still hear the pleading. _"We will not survive! Who can survive?"_

There was no way to help them. No way to do anything except follow the path before him.

It twisted through the rocks, leading him through a thicket of trees. Branches swatted at his face, brambles tore at his exposed arms, and still he climbed.

Higher, higher, until the air was thin and he was close enough to see blood dripping from the moon and falling to the earth like fire.

The cries were gone now, replaced by another sound. A war call. A victory cry.

Clutching his ears, Dean had to cower, the force of the coming voices too much.

"Bob!" Dean screamed, trying to shield himself as the trees exploded around him. Fire caught, burning close enough that he could feel the heat. "Bob!"

There was no reply, just a swelling call. Figures rose from the ground alongside the mountain-almost human, but not quite, standing strong and unopposed as the land deteriorated around them.

The ground beneath Dean's feet shifted and he stumbled, almost falling.

"Bob!" he tried again, desperate, pleading. The angel had never abandoned him before, not like this. Not when the stakes were this high. "BOB!"

The angel flickered before him, frowning. His face was smudged, dirty. His hair out of place. A large rip in his t-shirt. He shook his head. "Dean-what-?"

But the message was garbled, worse than before.

"I don't understand," Dean said.

It was almost as if Bob didn't hear him. "Devil's Tower-Dean-"

Dean shook his head. "Bob, you need to-"

But Bob was gone, his image destroyed by a falling flame.

Dean flinched away before he got singed, trying to figure out the best way out of there.

Then the ground fell away and Dean went tumbling into oblivion.

He woke up with a start.

No falling to the center of the earth.

No blood red moon.

No freakin' Devil's Tower.

No crying out from humanity.

Dean took a breath, short and stuttered.

He was in the car, sprawled across the back seat, exactly where he'd laid down to get some sleep in the first place.

"You okay?" Sam asked.

Startled, Dean jerked his head to the side. Sam was poised in the passenger's seat, but his body was twisted so his legs stretched across toward the driver's side. He had a shot gun loosely in his hands and he regarded Dean with vague concern.

"No luck getting a hold of Bob?" Sam pressed.

Dean swallowed, sitting up tentatively. He wet his lips, trying to forget what he'd just seen.

"Dean?" Sam asked again, eyes zeroed in on him now.

Dean tried to work saliva into his throat in vain. He smiled weakly, but it felt more like a grimace. "I'm okay," he said, a little hoarse. He rubbed a hand over his face. "We'll just say whatever Bob's up to, it's still screwing with the angel radio."

Sam frowned, eyes scanning the dark perimeter outside the car. "Still the same location?"

Dean thought about the massive monument rising out of the ground. A lump formed in his throat. "Yeah, I'd say so."

Sam sighed, letting his head rest against the window. "Anything new this time?"

"Oh, you know," Dean said, trying to shrug. "Just a blood red moon, fire falling from the sky, humanity crying out. The typical stuff."

"God," Sam breathed. He closed his eyes for a long moment. When he opened them, Dean could see just how tired Sam was. "So this is really it, huh?"

Dean snorted at that. He looked out his window. They were parked on the side of the road, squeezed between two other abandoned vehicles. There wasn't much resembling cover on the open road, but after two days of nonstop driving, even the Winchesters needed some shut eye-for whatever good it did them.

Then he looked at Sam again, trying not to see just how much this seemed to age his brother. There were dark circles under Sam's eyes, deep lines etched into his forehead. Dean never would have let Sam take first watch except that being asleep was still the easiest way to get in contact with Bob.

Still, that didn't mean Dean didn't have his big brotherly duty now. Sam never needed any help seeing just how screwed they were; it was Dean's job to give the kid enough hope to keep going anyway.

"Nah," Dean said dismissively. "I mean, the end of the world? With all the crap Bob's been having us do? With all the crap Dad's been having us do? Between a hard ass and a diva, I think it's safe to say that the world can't end quite yet."

Sam's lips twitched briefly in a smile, but it didn't stick. He looked longingly out the window again. "It's just...I hope they're right," he said finally.

"Who?" Dean asked. "Bob or Dad?"

Sam smiled ruefully, meeting Dean's eyes. "Either one of them," he said. "Just as long as there's a way out of this that we can both survive."

"Hey," Dean said sharply, too aware of the fatalism in Sam's voice. "We've survived the Yellow Eyed Demon. We've survived angels. We've survived a freakin' trip through time. We even just survived _another_ earthquake. You better believe that it's going to take more than the Apocalypse to take us down."

Sam looked down, his face pinched. He nodded slightly, small tight movements.

"Anyway, since Bob's still AWOL, maybe we should skip the nap and double time it to Wyoming," Dean suggested, sitting forward, his elbows on the front bench back. "How far away are we?"

Sam blinked rapidly, his hand shaking while he reached to the glove compartment and took out the map. He flicked on his flashlight, turning it on. "Not far," he said. Then he squinted out at the night. "But with these roads? I don't know. Maybe a day depending on what's still passable."

That wasn't an overly reassuring answer, but Dean would take what he could get. Clapping Sam on the shoulder, Dean said, "Then I guess we better get a move on, shouldn't we? You can sleep this next leg and I'll wake you when we find a place to stock up."

Sam nodded again, and Dean opened his door, scooting out.

Outside, the night was crisp, his breath puffing out before him. The sky was cloudless, the star flickering in the expanse. Dean suppressed a shudder as he looked at the almost full moon.

Steeling himself, he closed his door, opening the front one and climbing in.

Turning the keys in the ignition, Dean gave Sam a glance. "You ready to roll?"

Sam raised his eyebrows. "Ready as I'll ever be."

With that, Dean started the engine, and pulled out into the night.

-o-

Sam woke with the rising sun.

Shifting on the seat, he squeezed his eyes tighter against it, trying to curl up ineffectually on his side.

With a groan, he gave up the fight, blinking his eyes open. Sitting up, he rolled his shoulders, trying to work the inevitable kinks out of his back. Sam was too big for half the motel beds they ended up in, so sleeping in the car felt more like being a sardine squished into an ill-sized can.

Needless to say, it did not leave him refreshed. Especially since the world was probably ending.

Sam glanced at the window, looking out at the open road. Just like the rest of their road trip. The road was cracked, pitted in parts. Other cars were still there, but standing still, some pulled off to the side, others abandoned in the middle of lanes.

"I'd say good morning," Dean said from the driver's seat. "But I haven't figured out what's good about it yet."

Sam met his brother's grim gaze. "Still no signs of life?"

Dean shrugged, jerking the car to avoid a particularly large pot hole. "We passed another contingent of army trucks when we crossed into South Dakota but we didn't stop to chat. Saw a few cars headed in the opposite direction, but that's it. Seems like most people have taken cover."

Sam sighed. "I guess there's probably a tight curfew over any major city," he mused.

"Or people are just finally getting wise to what goes bump in the night."

Sam cringed, thinking back to the supernatural free for all they'd encountered back in at Ellen's. With a critical eye, Sam looked at the dash. "We're almost out of gas," he observed.

Dean squinted toward the road ahead. "I've been holding out until Rapid City."

"You think it's still standing?" Sam asked.

"We just need one gas pump," Dean said.

Sam laughed tightly. "And no more surprises when we find it."

"Aw, come on, Sammy," Dean cajoled with dark humor. "What kind of Apocalypse would it be if there weren't some nasty surprises?"

Sam didn't say anything as he stared out the window, looking nervously at the road ahead.

-o-

For all of Dean's talk, he was the one who wanted to blow town when they finally got there. "Maybe we should keep driving," he said skeptically.

Sam looked at the gas station again. It wasn't the first one they'd found, but it had been the first one that looked like it might still be standing. The Shell sign had tumbled to the ground and broken into pieces. A portion of the carport over the pumps had collapsed, but the two pumps on the end were still accessible. More importantly, the generator was easily visible on the side of the station, which meant there was still a way to get gas out of the pumps into the car.

"It's better than the last one," Sam pointed out.

"Yeah, because the last one had fallen five feet into the ground."

Sam sat back, exasperated. "If we don't get gas, we're not going to get very far," he said. "Would you rather walk from here?"

Dean scowled.

"Besides," Sam said. "Rapid City is pretty good size. There's probably a military presence around here somewhere."

"So idiots with uzis running around is supposed to make me feel better?" Dean asked sharply.

Sam rolled his eyes, pushing his door open. "Just get the gas," he said. "I'll see if I can find any supplies."

Dean's door opened and he climbed out, standing tentatively for a moment. He pulled his gun out next, keeping it secure in one arm as he headed back to the gas cap on the car. "Doesn't look like this place has been sacked by anything," he said. Then he raised his eyebrows. "Yet."

Sam turned his gaze to the still-standing building. The windows were mostly shattered, but it was mostly intact, faring far better than most of the buildings they'd seen in the area. Rapid City had not stood up well to the shaking.

Gun in one hand, Sam took out his EMF with the other, turning it on and holding it in front of him.

It roared to life, squeaking and beeping like mad.

Dean snorted. "Real big surprise there," he said. He nodded to the fallen power lines. "It could be electrical interference or just one big ass supernatural party now that the lights are going down on earth. Just be careful in there."

Sam nodded, his face puckering for a moment. "You, too," he said.

Dean held up his gun. "Shoot first-"

"-ask questions later," Sam finished, holding up his own gun wearily.

He held his brother's gaze a moment more before collecting a deep breath, and turning toward the building once again. It went against his instincts to go in blind, but he really didn't have much choice. It was a heyday for the supernatural community, and all Sam could do was be cautious and careful and keep his finger on the trigger.

Glancing around, he moved toward the building slowly. When he got to the door, he paused, peering in discretely. It was hard to see much, but it was easy to see that nothing was moving. There was no indication of activity-new or old.

Taking another steadying breath, Sam put his hand on the door, testing it. Finding it unlocked, he swung it open silently, slipping through.

Gun in front of him, he visually swept the room, keeping his aim up.

Stillness. Sunlight filtered in through the broken windows. falling over the fallen shelves and scattered items. A rack of sunglasses was tipped over at his feet, some of the glasses broken. The doughnut case was disturbing unharmed, a bear claw still sitting primly under the plastic case.

Looking toward the counter, the cash registered was still closed. Inching closer, he made out a dried puddle of blood on the floor, but no sign of a body.

Inching farther in, Sam stepped over a spilled container of gum. There was a crinkling sound as he stepped on a bag of potato chips.

It was creepy as hell, but it was clear.

Allowing himself to breathe, Sam relaxed ever so slightly, keeping his gun in hand, but unslinging the pack from his shoulder.

Navigating the floor, Sam headed toward the refrigerators along the far wall. Skipping the soda, he found the bottled water, packing a plentiful supply into his bag. Milk and juice were probably no goes without any way to keep them fresh. But Sam picked up a six pack of beer. It wasn't practical, but if this didn't get much better, they would need whatever they could get to take the edge off.

Satisfied with the drinks, Sam made his way back to the disorderly rows. It took a bit of maneuvering, but he managed to find some chips and nuts that might fill them up a bit. The nuts were good for protein, especially if they were short up on meat for awhile. He was lingering over the candy bars, debating how much he should indulge when he saw the shadow.

His heart skipped a beat, just for a moment, and his body tensed. His first instinct was to freeze, but in this climate, it could get him killed. Shoot first, Dean had said.

So Sam did.

Surging, he straightened and spun, waiting until he was at full height to pull the trigger.

It was a good move-fast and efficient-but not good enough.

His finger never finished the movement backward. Instead, the gun was knocked from his hands the second before a fist raked across his chin.

Sam hit the ground hard, reeling. He saw stars, his vision graying out, and before he could get his wits about him, he was being turned over.

Sam was down, but he wasn't out. Off guard or not, Sam's instincts were strong, and he forced himself upward, knocking away the hands grasping at his coat. His vision hadn't cleared, but he didn't need to see to send a powerful foot into the gut of his attacker, sending the other man flying.

It was the opening Sam needed, and he was on his feet in an instant. As he charged forward, he gauged his attacker. A male. Older than he was. Nondescript. A button up dress shirt that was ripped on one side. No indication of who he was, why he would do this.

Shoot first, ask questions later.

But where his gun?

He didn't need a gun. He just needed to knock this guy out.

Sam advanced, ready to launch a follow up, but the attacker was quicker than Sam expected. He was already on his feet, and Sam barely had time to greet him with a solid punch to the face.

Not his best punch, but one that would put Dean on his ass.

The attacker barely wavered.

Instead, he hit Sam with an uppercut so quickly that Sam didn't even have time to move.

The room spun and Sam felt himself faltering imperceptibly. He needed a minute, just a second-

All he got was another hit to the face, even harder than the last.

It all went black for a long second, and Sam was roused by another strike across his cheek. He was on the floor again, sprawled helplessly over debris and food.

He was hit again, and Sam remembered to struggle, but he had nowhere to go. The attacker was on top of him, his weight across Sam's stomach, his fist connecting again and again and...

Then it stopped. Just as suddenly as it began.

"Sam Winchester," the attacker breathed.

For a second, Sam thought he was hearing things. His ears were ringing, his vision still not quite focused. He blinked with effort, trying to bring the fuzziness back to clarity.

He couldn't see much, but he could see the man above him. Sitting and staring with large black eyes.

A demon.

Anger twisted in Sam's gut, spurring on a new vigor. A _demon_. As if he hadn't been screwed over by them enough. He _did_ not want to be killed by one now.

He bucked as best he could, with all the force he could muster, but the weight on top of him was unmovable.

" _The_ Sam Winchester," the demon continued, sounding awed, a genuine smile on its face. "I can't believe it's you!"

Sam's face twitched, and he spit blood. "Screw off."

The demon barely even flinched, letting the blood splatter hit its host's face with no reaction. Instead, the face above him looked truly thoughtful. "I guess this makes sense, that you would survive this. And be headed right toward the action, no less." The demon smiled a borrowed grin, narrowing its black eyes at Sam. "But since you _are_ the action, I guess that's all part of the plan."

Sam's anger hesitated, just for a moment. "What are you talking about?" he asked, trying to keep his voice steady.

The demon's face lit up. "We need you alive for this part. I mean, don't get me wrong, I would _love_ to rip your flesh away, strip by strip, until you were all bloody and writhing..." The demon's voice trailed off with a satisfied shuddered. It sighed with a contented smile. "But not yet. Not _yet_. But if I take you there myself, maybe I can have a front row seat."

Sam's chest clenched, and his rage dissipated into fear. Not at dying-because sure, dying would suck, but there were some things worse than death. Sam had tried not to think about the endgame, tried not to think about his part in it all, but he had always known on some level that he wasn't going to be the angels' knight in shining armor. Not with demon blood coursing through his veins.

He shook his head, in desperate defiance. "It'll never happen," he said, struggling with new energy.

"Oh, Sammy, that's cute," the demon said. "I had heard you were quite the little spitfire, but seeing it first hand is kind of quaint. You don't need to worry, though. I'll take good care of you until we get there."

Sam thrashed his legs, grunting with effort.

The demon just laughed again, raising its arm for one more blow when suddenly it just stopped.

The demon cowered, hissing with pain, clawing at the back of its head.

It was sizzling, Sam realized. The hair, all the way down the demon's neck.

Only one thing could do that to a demon.

Holy water.

Which meant-

Sam looked up, seeing his brother the second before Dean kicked the demon hard in the side.

Still recovering from the holy water, the demon tumbled off Sam, and Dean followed up with another kick, this time to the face. Bending over, Dean had rope in his hand, an open flask of holy water in the other. He met Sam's eyes for a long moment before he said,"You think you could get the devil's trap up before our _friend_ here wakes up?"

Sam got to his feet, shaking. "Yeah," he said breathily. His head spun for a moment and he had to close his eyes. When he opened them, his stomach was still nauseous and his head was throbbing. He met Dean's worried gaze again.

"You sure you're good to go?"

Sam nodded quickly. "Yeah," he said. Then he looked at the demon, remembering its words. "Looks like we've got an exorcism to perform."

Dean looked grimly back at the demon. He sighed. "Let's do this quick, then," he suggested.

Taking a step, Sam's balance threatened to desert him. Swallowing hard, Sam grimaced, keeping himself together. He took a moment just to breathe before blinking blearily at his brother once again. "Definitely," he agreed, while still knowing at this point, they could never go fast enough.

-o-

With the Apocalypse and all, Dean had gotten pretty used to setting up exorcisms on the fly. Sometimes there just wasn't time to set up everything nice and pretty, with carefully placed devil's traps and reinforced chairs and handcuffs. More often than not, they had to play it by ear, scrape the thing together by the seat of their pants.

Even with that, this was more than a little ridiculous. Dean had to keep dousing their demon with holy water while Sam got the trap ready. It didn't help that Sam seemed to waver every time he stood up to move to a new spot. Dean had only caught the tail end of the beating the kid had taken, but it was pretty obvious Sam had gotten his bell rung-and hard.

Fortunately, though they were short on a lot of things these days, they were well stocked with holy water.

The demon thrashed, gnashing its teeth at Dean.

Annoyed, Dean splashed the guy in the face. "I'd tell you it hurts me more than it does you to do this, but I got to admit, seeing you sizzle just gets more fun the more I do it."

Then Dean splashed him again for good measure.

The demon howled.

Dean cursed, repositioning himself firmly so he was planted on the demon's back. "You about done over there, Sam?"

Sam looked up at him through his bangs. His face was bruising, a colorful array of colors on his cheek and chin. The kid was clearly exhausted, but the scowl of annoyance was a reassuring sign. "You don't have to antagonize him," Sam said crossly.

Dean patted the demon's shoulder. "Just getting to know each other a little better."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Great," he muttered. "Well, if you and your new friend are ready, I think the trap is ready to go."

Dean leaned down, squeezing the shoulder harder than he had to. "Hear that, buddy?" Dean asked. "We're going to have us an exorcism."

The demon bucked wildly and Dean poured on a helping of holy water to subdue it once again.

It took some effort, and a whole lot more holy water, but soon the demon was tied to a chair, securely in the middle of Sam's trap. Pocketing the holy water, Dean gave the demon a grin. "You ready to do this?"

The demon struggled, eyes narrowed in hatred. "You silly, silly humans," it seethed. "You waste time now, when the end is so near, to perform such a petty ritual."

Dean frowned, looking at Sam. "I think that was a _ready_ , what do you think?"

Sam gave the demon a wary glance, before looking at Dean again.

Dean nodded at the paper in Sam's hand. "Read it, Sam."

Sam swallowed, but obeyed. His voice started off with a tremor, but strengthened with the Latin flowing off his tongue.

The demon winced, gritting its teeth. It was trembling, but it shook his head tightly, face twisted in a sneer. "There's no point to this," it said. "What do you think you're going to accomplish?"

Dean raised his eyebrows. "Nothing much," he said. "Just sending you back to Hell. But hey, we'll take what we can get these days."

Sam's Latin continued, a steady, continuous stream.

The demon twitched, letting out a bellow that ended in a breathless laugh. "But Hell is coming _to you_ ," the demon panted, looking up at them through sweat-soaked hair. "Very, very soon."

Sam's Latin missed a beat, but picked up again.

Dean smirked with a confidence he wished he was more sure of. "I don't think so."

Sam's Latin hit a strong word, and the demon shuddered with a curse. "But we're almost there," the demon said thickly. "All the pieces are falling into place...one right after the other." The demon's chest heaved, and it convulsed before smiling. "Better than I ever would have guessed."

Next to him, Sam paused. "For what?" he asked, his voice flat. "What is it all leading to?"

The demon's face was alight with joy as its eyes flicked to Sam. "Lucifer's rise."

Sam froze, and Dean couldn't tell if it was fear or anger or complete denial.

His own jaw locked, and he forced himself to swallow. With a nudge, he gave Sam a knowing look.

Sam blinked at him for a moment before turning his eyes back to the sheet. His voice picked it up again, shaking with an uncharacteristic uncertainty that made Dean's chest clench with anger.

"You can't stop it," the demon said, raising its voice with pain. It made a guttural noise, trying to bend over for a moment. "You're a part of it. Both of you." It closed its eyes, almost as if in prayer. "So much a part of it."

Dean raised his chin. "A part of stopping it," he said with as much assurance as he could muster.

The demon bucked, writhing in its bonds as Sam continued to read. "No- _no_ ," it cried. "You are the _ones_. The ones they have foretold- _argh_!" The body spasmed for a long moment, but the eyes still gleamed back when they opened again. "You will bring our king."

Sam's voice hitched, pushing on.

The demon screamed, its head dropping forward. It spit blood before looking up again, still defiant. "By your lives...your deaths...you _will_ be our salvation."

Dean's anger swelled with fresh ire. Everything he'd fought against, all he'd done this past year, his entire _life_. He had rallied against this with everything he had and it had cost him more than he wanted to admit. It wouldn't be like that. It _wouldn't_.

Demons lied, they had to _lie_.

Sam hesitated again, and Dean could feel his doubt growing.

It just stoked Dean's rage even more. Lips pressed together, Dean shook his head. "Yeah, well," he said, his throat tight. "Tell Lucifer we say _hi_ when you see him, okay?"

Then he nodded to Sam, who did not let him down. With a wavering but strong voice, Sam read on.

The chair shook, the demon cried out again. The ground was shaking and when Sam said _amen_ , the demon screeched, throwing the host's head back as the black smoke poured out from the extended throat. With a gush of air, it disappeared out of the building, shaking the premises one more time before everything settled into stillness.

Dean and Sam stood still, looking at the scene, waiting.

The body in front of them slumped forward, held up only by the bonds.

Sam swallowed nervously, and Dean wiped his hands on his pants. "Is he...?" Sam asked, nodding toward the chair.

With a hesitating step, Dean crossed the threshold of the trap, moving forward. He put a hand to the man's throat and listened.

He closed his eyes.

Standing, he just shook his head.

Sam took the news better than Dean might have expected, but the loss still registered on the younger hunter's face palpably.

Stepping back out of the circle, Dean weighed the options. He hesitated for a moment, looking down for a moment before meeting Sam's eyes with regret. "We should go," he said.

Sam blinked rapidly. "Shouldn't we...," he said, nodding toward the body.

Dean didn't look that way. Refused to. There was nothing more they could do here, and Dean didn't like to leave loose ends, especially not when it came to _victims_ , but they had priorities. People had died all over the country, all over the world. They couldn't save them all. They just _couldn't_. "Sam, we've wasted enough time as it is," he said. "There's no telling how long he's been dead."

Sam's countenance trembled, but to Dean's relief, he nodded. "Yeah," he said. "We still have a few hours before we get to Devil's Tower."

Dean put a hand on Sam's shoulder, squeezing with reassurance.

Sam smiled at him briefly. "Let me just get my stuff."

"Car's all gassed up," Dean said.

Sam bent over, stuffing a few things of water back into his bag. Standing, he hoisted it over his shoulder. "Then I guess we better get going," he said.

Dean didn't respond, but he didn't have to. Instead he held Sam's eyes before heading back out the door.

-o-

Dean did most of the driving, but Sam couldn't sleep.

Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the people they'd failed. He saw the body of the man at the gas station. The victims from back from hideout with Ellen. Luke, the blood on the neck, the terrified look in his eyes as he died on the church floor.

And before that. Madison. His father. Jess. All the way back to his mother.

He swallowed numbly, staring out at the landscape. It was beautiful country, flat and long, but he could see the mountains in the distance. The sun was sinking over the skyline, casting a dimness over the land. Looking out toward the horizon, sometimes he could almost forget what was happening, that the world could be ending.

The last leg had been slow and hard, the roads increasingly damaged the farther along they went. Dean had had to go off road several times and even had to backtrack several miles to get around a particularly wide fissure.

But as long as they kept the mountains ahead of them, they could be sure they were going the right direction.

Assuming, of course, they had interpreted the dream right at all.

Swallowing again, Sam looked down at his hands. He chewed his lip for a moment, trying to quell his growing doubts.

Glancing at his brother, Sam shifted in his seat. He felt like a kid again, looking to the man in the driver's seat and having to believe they were going in the right direction. Sam's childhood had been an endless stream of car trips, always moving from one place to another, and Sam never knew why, never knew what for. He just always had to trust, always had to have faith.

That had been hard then.

Even though he didn't doubt Dean, it was still hard now.

Luckily, Dean wasn't Dad. Questions were allowed; doubts were permitted.

"So you're sure about this?" Sam asked.

Dean looked at him briefly. "Sure about what?"

Sam shrugged. "Going here," he said. "I mean, how do we even know for sure Bob's going to be there?"

Dean was silent for a moment, eyes trained ahead. He made a breathless noise in the back of his throat. He nodded forward. "Why don't you tell me?"

Sam followed his gaze, leaning down to get a better view out the windshield.

And then Sam saw it, too.

Though the sky was clear for miles, there was a growing convergence of clouds, low and dark coming to a point right over the peak in the distance.

The dense clouds were seized with lightning, lighting up from within, striking down from the heavens to the ground.

Sam shuddered and looked away, his eyes flickering to the rearview mirror.

And his heart sunk.

"In your dream," he said quietly. "What color was the moon?"

"Red," Dean said, hands tight on the wheel. "Why?"

Sam pressed his lips together, motioning behind them.

Dean turned to look and swore.

Because behind them in the quickly approaching night, a bloody moon was just starting to peak over the ragged horizon line.


	4. The Eve of Destruction Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PART FOUR

PART FOUR

They really couldn't catch a break.

Not even a little one.

Because as if their lives weren't complicated enough with earthquakes and demonic fathers and vague angels and the _end of the world_ , they friggin' ran out of road.

Well, technically, they didn't run out of road. They just ran out of road they could drive on. Which, as far as Dean was concerned, was basically the same damn thing.

Not that he was ready to admit that. Denial was Dean's friend; it was one of his strongest allies, right after Sam and Bob and well-that was about it these days.

But when the car rocked violently to the left, catching in a particularly large pothole, he knew it was time to give up the fight. If for no other reason than the car lurched and creaked before coming to a shuddering stop.

Dean hit the brakes, for what good it was worth, cursing as he tried to ease on the gas again.

The tires ground, the car sputtered. Throwing it in reverse, Dean tried to back out.

Instead the engine whined and spluttered with smoke.

Killing the ignition, Dean sighed, looking at his brother. Sam was sitting in the passenger's seat, gun in his lap, eyebrows raised.

"Something wrong?" Sam asked, almost a little rueful.

Dean snorted. "Take your pick, Sammy," he muttered. He nodded to the sky. The red moon was hovering just above the horizon now, the lightning storm looming ahead, louder and louder with each passing mile. "The moon? The lightning?"

Sam's face didn't flicker, his eyes showing no sign of humor. "I mean with the car," he replied.

Dean rolled his eyes. "We're walking from here," he said definitively.

Sam's face registered surprise. "You're just going to leave the Impala here?"

Dean twisted, grabbing his bag out of the back seat. "She's not getting any farther on these roads," he said. He pulled the bag onto his lap, sorting through it and checking to see how much ammo he had on hand. It wasn't his favorite option, but Dean was a practical man. And in times like these, he couldn't afford to be sentimental-not even with the car. "Besides, with these roads? She's more at risk going forward than sitting here in the open."

Sam had no argument to that.

Resigned, Dean pushed his door open. In the growing darkness, it was hard to see exactly how badly the car was stuck, and it was virtually impossible to gauge what damage had been done. When they got done with this whole saving the world gig, he seriously owed the Impala a complete once over and a thorough clean. Maybe a new paint job and some fancy tires just to let her know she was still loved.

Shouldering his pack, Dean made his way to the trunk where Sam was waiting for him. He opened the trunk in silence, and Sam reached in first to open their collapsable bottom to access the weapons cache.

They were well stocked, of course. A good hunter always was. Their assortment of ammunition was vast and their range of weaponry was impressive. Cast iron, silver, rock salt pellets. Hunting knives, carving blades, ceremonially blessed pieces.

And that didn't even start on the assortment of other supplies they had. Holy water, ancient texts, exorcisms, rituals, lighters, salt. Gasoline, purified metal. Everything they could ever possibly need for any hunt they might come across.

Yet all the weaponry in the world didn't mean crap when they had no idea what they were walking into. Dean had seen the scene in his dream, and they could see the lightning storm raging ahead of them. They'd encountered Black Dogs and demons and Dean didn't doubt there would be more of that as this whole mess unfolded.

But tonight? Dean wasn't sure if anything in their arsenal would do them any good at all.

Not that he was going to tell Sam that.

Setting his mouth in a grim line, he glanced at his brother. Sam was sifting through their arsenal carefully, loading up on holy water and salt. That was so like Sam. A concentrated defense. He was expecting demons, no doubt.

To complement Sam, Dean reached in, adding a deep range of ammo to the already impressive stash in his pack. He loaded up a few extra knives and two more guns that he usually only saved for the most hard core hunts.

When his pack was as heavy as he dared, Dean swallowed. He tried to smile, watching as Sam looked for a place in his bag to cram a book of ancient banishing rituals. Sam's bag looked even heavier than his, and oddly shaped. It would be heavy as hell to carry and awkward to boot. "You think you got enough stuff there, Butch?" Dean asked.

Sam met his eyes with a flat gaze. "We need to be ready."

Dean's laugh was small. "I don't know if that's even possible."

Sam paused, fingers trembling. He stared down at the book in his hands before tucking it into his jacket pocket instead. He looked up, and straightened his jacket, standing stiffly. He pulled his bag over his shoulder with an effort and sniffed once before nodding.

There was nothing else to say. Nothing else to do. Dean closed the trunk, looking out at the road ahead of them. It was jagged and marred with debris. It wouldn't be easy, and their destination?

The tower stood out starkly in the darkness, partially covered by the isolated storm. If getting there would be hard, Dean didn't even want to think about what _being there_ would be like.

With a glance over his shoulder, the moon was still climbing at their backs, casting an eery red glow over the land.

It was like being stuck between a rock and a hard place, trapped somewhere between Hell and Hades. Damned if they did, probably damned if they didn't.

Dean pushed back the fear. He held back the doubts. Instead he squared his shoulders, giving one last resolute nod. "Let's do this," he said.

Sam didn't reply, but he didn't have to. Dean took his first steps onto the road, and Sam was right there by his side as Dean led them straight into the unknown.

-o-

Sam had thought he was nervous before.

It was nothing compared to the growing sense of foreboding he had now.

After all, with every step they took, the worse the situation got. The walk wasn't much better than the drive had been. The road got harder and harder to follow, the crumbled pavement hardly resembling the stretch of highway it used to be. There were still cars on it, though, littered across the landscape in various states of disarray. The license plates represented a cross-section of America, and Sam shuddered to think this had once been a tourist trap.

Especially since all those well meaning families, those happily retired couples, were all dead in their cars now.

They'd stopped to check on the first few, but the bodies were too far gone-from what, Sam couldn't tell. He wasn't sure he wanted to know.

Of course, moon didn't do much to assuage his nerves. Neither did the lightning storm, which was close enough to feel now, the constant barrage of sizzles and sparks illuminating the massive tower.

Sam imagined the tower had always been inherently impressive, even before this began. The single, monolithic structured seemed to come out of nowhere, an awesome testament to the earth's natural beauty. But Sam knew that was nothing compared to its current state.

The closer they got, the clearer it was. The earthquake had ravaged the area, and it seemed like they were probably close to the epicenter, if not right on top of it. The ground was severely torn, opening bottomless fissures in some areas and driving slabs of earth under one another in others. This shifting and tearing had only bolstered the tower, lifting it higher into the sky. Even with an untrained eye, Sam could see that it reached epic proportions now, stretching so tall that its peak was entirely obscured in the looming cloud cover.

If it had been natural, it might have been awe-inspiring. But Sam knew that earthquake or not, this had been no regular trembler. No, seeing the tower jutted like that-it was almost as if Hell itself was trying to ascend all the way to Heaven and take right over.

Sam didn't want to think about how accurate that might be.

Next to him, if Dean was having similar doubts, he wasn't letting on. To the contrary, his brother was moving doggedly onward, scaling the juts in the ragged ground with hardly a look in front of them. It was a quiet trek, because not even Dean could come up with something to ease the tension.

When they finally reached the dilapidated entrance to the park, they had to stop. Not just to think about what they were doing, but because it was easy to see that their journey was about to change.

The sign was remarkably still standing, welcoming visitors to Devil's Tower. However, the check point was complete gone, one electronic gate still hanging haphazardly. But behind the sign, the land was rocky and risen, hitching unnaturally into the air. The incline wasn't impassable, but it was steep, and even in the red moonlight, Sam could see that it was going to be an uphill walk from there.

Dean huffed. "Well," he said tiredly. "Looks like we'll be doing some climbing."

The tone was meant to be annoyance, but even Dean couldn't quite pull it off. Sam knew his brother too well, and he could hear the hints of fear that he was trying to hide.

Dean had told Sam a little about the dream, but if the bloody moon was any indication, Sam figured Dean had gotten a better picture of what they were facing than he was letting on.

Sam's only hope at this point was that Bob would be there when they finally got to the tower. If not...well then Sam had no idea what they were going to do. This was a huge leap of faith, more than Sam really wanted to make, but they simply did not have any other options, not when it came to the Apocalypse. Their dad was AWOL now and they couldn't sit around and do _nothing_ when they had a part in saving the world.

Sam nodded. He held out a hand with a grim smile. "After you."

Dean gave him a look, but flattened his lips and started in on the incline.

Sam was in good shape-they both were, despite Dean's eating habits-but the climb was hard. The rocks were sharp and random, sometimes making easy foot holes and plateaus, other times leaving them scrambling to find their next step. Step after step, rock after rock, they didn't look back. Couldn't look back.

Their packs made it cumbersome, slowing them down. It threw off Sam's center of gravity, but he didn't dare abandon it. A hunter couldn't afford that, especially not now.

They passed into trees now, some upright, others fallen, The incline was less now, still steep but more horizontal. They had to be getting closer, Sam thought.

Then Dean staggered, almost falling, and Sam scrambled to steady him. "Dean!" he cried out, trying to keep his own feet grounded. A fall probably wouldn't kill them, but Sam couldn't say for sure, and he sure as hell didn't want to find out.

Dean swayed, a hand going to his head for a moment.

"Dean, you okay?" Sam asked, feeling his heart thudding in his chest.

His brother blinked, shaking his head. "Yeah," he said, a little absently. "I think angel radio just kicked back on."

"What?" Sam asked. "Now? After all the silence?"

Dean squeezed his eyes shut, pressing hard on the bridge of his nose. Then he opened his eyes again, looking up in horrified wonder. "They're all here."

"Who's all here?" Sam asked.

"The angels," he said. "That's why I haven't been able to get ahold of them. They're all too busy."

Sam shook his head, trying to put it all together. "Busy doing what?"

Dean's face was pale, the circle under his eyes pronounced with the red moonlight. "A battle," he said, his voice almost reverent. "They're preparing for battle."

Sam's eyes went wide. "A what?"

Dean met Sam's gaze with a strange certainty. "The angels are here- _a lot_ of them-preparing for battle."

Licking his lips, Sam tried not to let fear get a grip on him. "Against who?"

Dean's face was blank. "I don't know."

Sam nodded at that, because he didn't know what else to do. His mind raced for a minute, trying to come up with something, _anything_. Instead, he asked, "So what do you want to do?"

Dean laughed dryly, his voice almost cracking. "We do what we came here to do."

Sam took a shuddering breath, willing his heart to stop pounding. He offered a watery smile. "You good to go then?"

Dean's countenance wavered just for a moment. "You going to stay at my back?"

Sam's answer was quick, certain. "I won't let you fall."

The grin Dean wore was tired, relieved. Grateful. "Then let's do this."

Sam could only nod, following a step behind his brother as they continued to climb.

-o-

It started off with sound.

The air was thick with the electricity from the storm, but soon the sounds were distinguishable. Above the rapidly thumping of Dean's own heart, he knew these sounds, better than he wanted to. They came back to him with an ethereal quality, the lingering remnants of his dream.

Only this time, it was all real.

It started off quiet, distant. A humming, vibrating in the air, tingling through them both.

Like being at a concert, standing right in front of the speakers. Only instead of rocking out to some solid tunes, Dean was about to rock out to what might be the end of the world. With front row seats, no less, and his little brother by his side.

Which really, was just _peachy_.

There was a burst of static in his mind, followed by a bleating chord which resonated for a moment in his head before suddenly cutting off. It made his knees go weak, but he steadied himself, forcing himself onward. Sam was behind him-too close-no doubt watching every move he made. And Dean couldn't be sure that if he fell, he wouldn't take Sam down with him.

Not that he would have left Sam behind, even if the kid would have agreed to it. They were in this together, no matter what. There was reassuring in that solidarity, and Dean needed that more than ever.

The higher they climbed, the clearer it became. Not just sounds. Voices. Hundreds of them. Maybe thousands. But not the pleading of humanity like he'd expected from his dream. No, this was chanting, reverent and skilled, ebbing and flowing in perfect Latin.

"There's two sides," Sam whispered behind him, his voice low and grating.

Dean paused, looking back at him. "What?"

The bruises on Sam's face were vivid against his milky skin. Sam swallowed convulsively, his Adam's apple bobbing as he looked up at the incline. "One side is invoking the name of God."

Dean turned his head back up as well, listening more carefully now. The words were distinct now, and he could hear the two strains. "The other calling on the big man down under," he concluded grimly.

"I guess we got the right place then," Sam said with trepidation.

Leave it to Sam to make the understatement of the Apocalypse. Dean shook his head, grunting his reply, before climbing on.

Sam followed, right on backside, one foot after another, after another, after-

The ground evened out suddenly, and in the new expanse the noise was loud-almost deafening. Dean could no longer hear his brother's footfalls behind him, could barely feel the hot shadow of Sam's breath on the back of his neck.

Dean picked up his pace, feeling his chest tighten in anticipation. There was one last incline, small but steep, and Dean grappled with it, rocks falling away in his efforts. Sam went slightly to his left to avoid being hit with debris, but Dean reached the summit first.

Dean pulled himself over, his arms screaming with the effort. Panting, he rolled onto solid ground, but his recovery was thwarted by what he saw.

Sam came up next to him, falling just as still.

Dean wasn't sure what he had expected.

But it wasn't... _this_.

The tower was right before them now, massive and imposing. At its foot, there were _thousands_ of people. They stood rigidly, in awkward lines. The bodies were erect, limbs at tight angles, as if they weren't used to moving at all.

Then Dean realized they probably weren't. Because these weren't humans-at least not anymore.

No, these bodies were _vessels_. Possessed by demons.

Behind them at the base of the monolith, there was a massive crack and Dean could see swarms of black still escaping. He watched in horror as the black clouds separated, stealing into a pile of bloodied bodies stretched out at the edge of the abyss. Humans being worn as mere tools, stockpiled like an arsenal for a demonic army.

Their ranks were growing, filling the ground as far as Dean could see. Their backs were to the mountain, poised, ready, black eyes glinting with bloody moonlight.

Facing them, in organized ranks but smaller number, were the angels. Dean hadn't seen a lot of angels, but he did not doubt that was what they were. They stood erect with their shoulders squared. They each held a sword, a gleaming, glowing weapon that almost looked transparent, but Dean could not doubt the deadliness of the blade.

Sam's breath caught in his throat. "Dean-"

But the words were cut off as one of the angels raised his hand in the air. He was older, the body he was wearing with graying hair and distinguished wrinkles. A businessman, maybe. A doctor.

A general now.

He lifted his chin, voice calling out to the heavens. "Amen!"

The ranks of angels echoed the refrain in beautiful harmony.

"Blessing and glory and wisdom and thanksgiving and honor and power and strength!" the angel continued, his voice booming over the open ground.

Across from them, the demons tittered, some spitting, others crying out in pain.

Then the angel raised his other arm, eyes closing in invocation. "These belong to our God," he prayed. His hands closed into fists. "Forever and ever." Then he opened his eyes, leveling his stare at the demons. The last world came out in a fierce growl. " _Amen_."

And before Dean could blink or think to push Sam away, the angels surged forward in a blur of light and sound, and the war began.

-o-

It was unlike anything Sam had _ever_ seen

After a lifetime with the supernatural, that actually meant something.

The sheer scope, the _weight_ -

These were _angels_ , warriors of the Lord. He had known Bob was an angel, but not like this...

Not wielding a sword against foot soldiers of Lucifer.

It was numbing. Overwhelming. Sam didn't know if he wanted to scream or cry or run away. As it was, all he could do was _stare_.

The two sides clashed in an explosion that lit up the battlefield. Thunder rolled, heavy and loud, and the sky split, the cloud cover rolling away from the tip of the tower in parallel waves. There was a gust of wind that swirled violently around them before and eerie stillness saturated the air above the clearing.

The _battlefield._

Dean was frozen next to him, Sam's arm just touching his.

The angels seemed to fly, feet moving so quickly, they barely touched the ground. Their swords cut through the air, rending demons in their wakes. The demons fought back, however, relying on mere numbers alone to overtake their enemy, pulling down the angels in pairs or threes and devouring them in bursts of energy.

They had come here for this, they had traveled so far-and to do what? What were they supposed to do _here_? At a meeting of Heaven and Hell that was so epic, that Sam wasn't even sure they would survive _watching_.

Then he saw Bob.

The familiar angel was wearing his typical outfit-a t-shirt and a pair of designer jeans that no doubt cost more than Sam's entire wardrobe. His hair was still gelled and styled, but not even Bob's unique sense of fashion could change the fact that he was fighting a war at the moment.

In fact, Bob was engaging a demon, and a formidable one at that, Sam realized. The angel's sword was caught up in an invisible force, and his normally smooth face was strained with an effort Sam couldn't even begin to imagine.

Bob didn't seem to take things seriously very often, even when it seemed like he should, but it was clear that the angel was taking this seriously. Very seriously.

Because he was about to lose.

A pair of demons was coming up quickly from behind, creeping with an inhuman stealth. Locked in combat as he was, Sam knew that Bob would never have time to get out of the way, not without exposing himself to his current opponent.

Whatever issues Sam had had with the angel from time to time, he wasn't going to sit by and let him _die_. Especially not now.

Sam turned to Dean to show him, but from the look on Dean's face, he saw it, too. Their eyes met just for a second, and they didn't need to say anything. It was hard to define exactly what Bob was to them, but the angel had saved their asses enough for them to return the favor.

Keeping a hold of his gun, Sam dropped his bag, feeling for the flask of holy water in his pocket. Getting to his feet, he charged, Dean right by his side. It was a straight run, as fast as they could manage, weaving through the battle with as much focus as they could.

They weren't as close as Sam would have liked, but they didn't have any time to waste. Sam fired at one of the approaching demons, his salt pellet not enough to kill it, but definitely enough to make it double over and hit the ground. Dean staggered the second with an iron round, and it wasn't much, but it was enough.

Bob's face twisted into a frown, thrusting one hand forward. His face contorted with concentration and he made a fist before yanking hard. The demon's essence followed suit, ripping from its host with a force Sam had never seen before. Shock registered on the host's face before the eyes went blank and it collapsed to the ground.

The demon screeched, the black mass of smoke seizing for a moment before it vanished in a spray of sparks.

With that, Bob turned, grinning at them. "Fancy meeting you here," he said grandly.

Sam just stared. Dean actually gaped.

Bob held out his hand, slashing his sword through the air and felling the two demons who were recovering enough to resume their charge.

Pulling his sword out from the second one, Bob tossed his head, preening a bit. "Makes you think twice before you doubt my whole warrior of the Lord schtick, huh?"

Sam couldn't help it. His mouth dropped open.

Dean recovered enough to raise his eyebrows. "You've been holding out on us, man."

Bob shrugged with a nonplussed frown. "A guy can't reveal all his secret." He leaned forward, waggling his eyebrows. "It wouldn't be _any_ fun at all."

Sam almost laughed at the sheer ridiculousness of the comment, but he had to duck instead as a body flew over his head. "Yeah, since this is such a blast," he replied as he stood to full height tentatively.

Bob's brow creased. "Yes, this really is not the best place for a social call," he agreed. "Why did you come?"

Dean gestured wildly toward the mountain with an air of indignation. "You _told_ us to."

Bob blinked, surprised. "No, no, no," he said. "I told you _not_ to come. I told you to stay as far away from this place as you could."

A demon warbled a war cry, closer than Sam expected. He flinched when he saw it leaping out them, a bloodthirsty fire in its eyes.

Bob held out his palm with a massive grunt. The power released made Sam waver on his feet, and the explosion of power hit the demon head on, causing it to yelp. The body fell limply to the ground, lying still, while the demon writhed in the air before tearing itself apart.

"Oh," Dean said, flinching as an angel brushed past him. "Well, next time you might want to make it a little bit clearer."

"What part of the massive mountain and the foreboding images was confusing to you?" Bob asked pointedly.

"You always said we were a part of this fight," Dean said. He shrugged. "I figured it was you asking for help."

Bob rolled his eyes, wiping away an uncharacteristic trickle of sweat from his forehead.. "Yes, of course," he muttered. "Only you two would think that terrifying images would be an invitation and not a warning light."

Looking nervously as a demon tackled an angel to his left, Sam stepped closer to Dean. "It's a little late for that now," he said, meeting Bob's eyes. "We're already here."

"Yes, and I should fly you right out of here," Bob fretted. He spun his sword, catching a demon coming at his back with almost no effort.

But it did make him blind to the one coming from the left. Sam aimed his gun, firing at it. Dean pelted another from the other direction with holy water before Bob took out the first with his sword and vanquished the other with his hand.

"We can help you," Sam said, a little breathless. He was still trying to believe it himself, but he spoke anyway. They hadn't come all this way, they hadn't abandoned Ellen and the others along the way to just get flown to safety now. "We're already here."

"I don't know," Bob said, eying the battle uncertainly.

Dean tripped another demon, shooting it in the back while it flailed before Bob finished it off. "Consider it an exercise of free will," Dean said with grim satisfaction.

Bob didn't have time to reply as Sam caught another demon with a spray of holy water. In response, Bob followed up with his sword before turning his attention to the demon Dean had plugged with iron.

And the battle raged on.

-o-

For all the years that Dean had spent playing the good little soldier in his father's army, he'd never really understood what it meant to be in a war. Sure, going one on one with a spirit got pretty tense, but it was always a short lived kind of thing.

Real war? Real battles? Fighting enemy after enemy just for his own survival?

He hadn't even had a friggin' clue before, not like he did now.

Now, he _really_ got it.

And realized that while he was pretty fond of hunting things and saving people, it was a damn good thing he'd never enlisted with Uncle Sam.

The back and forth of it all was dizzying, a constant barrage of movement and noise. After awhile, Dean stopped seeing faces-it took too much effort-and merely distinguished between friend and foe with a simple look at the eyes. Anything black, he shot. The rest, he stayed in their wake, riding on the coattails of their almighty protection.

The angels weren't infallible, though, and if Dean really had time to think about that, it would bother him more. They died, maybe not as easily as demons, certainly not as quickly as humans, but the end result was all the same. Their spirits were bright lights, fading into the dry mountain air with the sorrowful resonating sound of a lost dissonant note in a blinding symphony.

Sam stayed close, standing at Dean's back. It was a strategy they hadn't planned, but made perfect sense. This way, nothing would take them down that they didn't see coming.

Bob followed them both, cleaning up their sloppy work, mopping up the mess of demons they pissed off with simple efficiency. Apparently, not even Bob had time to add a flourish in the middle of a war.

Shoot a demon in the head, catch another in the shoulder. Spray one with holy water, catch one with a boot (steel tipped boots had their advantages in the end).

Behind him, Sam ducked, parried, and swore. They moved together, joined but separate, two and one, incapacitating, crippling, evening the playing field.

Steady swipes. Screaming black. Dying white.

All against the backdrop of the tower.

One more, two more, three more.

Kill, die, survive.

 _Survive_.

It was a steady mantra in his head, his thoughts reduce to actions. Simple verbs. Do, do, do. Win, win, win. Live. Keep living.

 _Sam_.

Dean wasn't sure how much he had in him, wasn't sure it was ever going to be enough. This was the story of his life, the story of his family, playing out on this battlefield. Heaven and Hell, pulling, twisting, murdering. And Dean just wanted to survive long enough to see it end, to see it over. Whoever won, whatever happened, just to stand on the other side with Sam right next to him.

It was a battle without blood, but not without casualties.

And then, just like that, it was over.

 _Over._

Dean stood, standing over the body of a demon Bob had just slain. His gun was still raised, waiting for an enemy that did not attack.

He stood like that for a moment, not sure what was happening. Panting and breathless, he blinked, looking over the battlefield with dawning understanding.

It was _over_.

Bodies littered the field, heaped in piles. The crater between the mountain the the clearing was quiet now, hissing quietly, almost as if the air was being sucked back down.

Next to him, Sam bent over, putting his hands heavily on his knees. Dean turned to gauge his brother, and found the younger man on the verge of collapse. He looked about as bad as Dean felt, covered with a fresh assortment of bruises and welts, sweat soaking all the way through his jacket.

"You okay, Sammy?" Dean asked, because nothing else mattered until he knew that much.

Sam's back heaved and his shaggy head nodded without looking up. After a second, he pushed himself upright, swaying every so slightly. His eyes were tired and weary, but okay. He nodded again, swallowing. "Never better," he said breathlessly.

Dean couldn't help it. He grin. "So I guess Dad was wrong all along," he mused. "You make one hell of a soldier after all."

Sam huffed a laugh, wincing as he did. "Couldn't have done it without you."

Bob sighed melodramatically and flounced between them. "And neither of you could have done it without me," he said. He offered them a tight smile. "But, you know, no need to thank me or anything."

Dean rolled his eyes. "If you had just been a little bit more clear-"

Bob waved his hand in dismissal. "Oh, please. I was preparing for battle and you're getting your panties all in a twist because I didn't take the time to spell it out all nice and pretty."

Sam grunted. "It was kind of a big detail, Bob."

"I know, I know," Bob said. "But you know, for your first angel/demon smackdown, that really wasn't all that bad."

Dean barked with laughter. "Thanks," he said. "But you know, nothing personal, but I'm kind of hoping that it's our last."

Bob shrugged. "They get easier," he said. Then he looked down, his eyes catching on his shirt. "But look at this! A hole! I got a _hole_ in my shirt!"

Dean peered closer. "Dude, that's tiny," he said.

Sam frowned, squinting at it. "Dean wears clothes way worse than that all the time."

"Yes, because you two still think that flannel is an viable fabric," Bob muttered, fingering the hole. "I love this shirt and now it is _ruined_."

Dean clapped Bob on the shoulder. "Tell you what, you get us out of here and we'll buy you a new one."

"You both owe me that," Bob muttered, his brows knitted together. He straightened his shirt, looking out across the field. Then his demeanor changed, his face going blank before he blanched.

"Dude, you really that upset about the shirt?" Dean prodded.

Bob startled a bit. "Oh, uh. No," he said, his voice a little rushed. He reached out, pushing Dean toward Sam, trying to steer them back toward the forest.

"Hey, wait a second," Dean said, trying to put the brakes on. "What are you doing?"

"Oh nothing," Bob told him, with a nervous glance over his shoulder. "But remember when I said you shouldn't be here?"

Sam planted his feet, cocking his head expectantly. "Yeah, but..."

"Well, that wasn't just for your own safety," Bob said as a matter of fact.

Dean's forehead creased. "What do you mean?"

"I always told you that you weren't the only one with orders," Bob said. He closed his eyes. "And my boss is so coming over here right now."

"The boss?" Dean asked, eyebrows raised. He looked over Bob's shoulder. "You mean, _God_?"

Bob's laugh was almost hysterical. "Not _that_ boss," he said, glancing back again. "My immediate supervisor." He fretted for a moment. "Oh, oh, oh...no. Don't tell him that I let you fight. No, don't tell him I let you come. Just-"

"Bob!" a voice rumbled out of nowhere.

Dean jumped, Sam nearly stumbling. One look and Dean got why Bob was freaked.

The boss was pretty imposing.

Dean probably should have guessed it before, but it was the general from before, the one who had started the battle. Up close, he was taller than Dean expected, broad shouldered and erect.

Bob turned, smiling broadly. "Bill!" he said.

"Bill?" Dean repeated. "Your boss is named _Bill_?"

Bill's eyes narrowed. "Is there something wrong with the name Bill?"

Dean's eyes widened, mouth opening but no words coming out.

"It's just...not very Biblical," Sam offered in Dean's stead.

Bill nodded, quite seriously. "We considered that," he said. "But after having the same name for 2000 years, it gets a bit on the dull side. Every millennia or so, we like to spice it up."

Dean nodded. "Good choice, then."

Bill gave him a resolute bob of his head before turning his attention to Bob once again. "Bob Marvin, these are the Winchesters that you have been charged with keeping track of, yes?"

"Sir, yes," Bob replied quickly, fumbling over the words. "I mean. I tried to tell them to go away, actually I tried to tell them not to come at all, but they're quite stubborn, these humans. All that free will, and apparently those with the last name Winchester take it more seriously than most."

For all of Bob's rambling, Bill didn't seem to be listening. He shook his head absently. "No matter, no matter," he said. "They're here now and it's just about time."

Though it was fun to watch Bob flop like a fish out of water, Dean's ears perked this. "About time for what?" he interjected, because after the kind of night he'd just had, he wasn't about to be talked about as if he weren't here.

Bill looked at him, then looked at Sam. "To play your parts, of course."

Sam stiffened, his breathing catching a bit in his throat.

Dean set his jaw. "Yeah," he said slowly. "About that. When do we finally get to know exactly what that means? I mean, we've been playing your game for awhile now, and it seems a little late to still not know the big picture."

"It's a very need to know kind of thing," Bob jumped in.

"Nonsense," Bill said. "The hour has come. The day of wrath has arrived. It is time for them to step up and serve their purpose to save the world."

Dean had just survived an epic clash between demons and angels. So why was it that _now_ , when it was all over, that he was getting really, truly nervous?

Sam found his voice first. "And what exactly are we supposed to do?" he asked."

Bill's answer was simple, to the point. "Kill your father."

It hit Dean like a punch in the stomach. "Kill him? But...why?"

It wasn't like it hadn't been an option Dean had kept on the table ever since finding out their father was back in some kind of demonic form. But over time, Dean had come to know that he wouldn't be able to pull the trigger because there was still something of their father there. Still something good lost in the mess that Dean didn't totally understand.

Dean wasn't ready to give up on that yet.

Bill continued. "It's very simple," he said. "You are to kill him before he completes the final seal."

Sam shook his head, clearly reeling just as bad as Dean was. "But what's the final seal? Why can't we just stop that?"

Bill's eyes sparked with sympathy as he looked at Sam. "Because you _are_ the final seal, boy."

And Dean's heart nearly stopped altogether.

Sam was trembling next to him, mouth open. "Me?"

Bill nodded. "Your pure lineage, the blood your mother and your father passed onto you, is quite strong. But when Azazel mixed his blood with yours, tainted it with base unholiness, it stirred a great and terrible power. It created a balance of good and evil, a perfect bridge from one world to the next. Your blood can break the barrier between Heaven and Hell-it is the only blood left on Earth that can release Lucifer."

The words were heavy, hard to hear. Harder still to accept.

"That is why Azazel raised you, why he has kept you alive," Bill explained. "By bringing you from life to death and back again, he amplified your blood, honed it. It practically cries out to complete its duty. This is why he uses your father. He knows that John Winchester is the only way to divide you two long enough to get the deed done. And that is why we need both of you to go and end John before he can end everything."

The revelation was stark. Real.

And it made sense. It made _sense_.

All the pieces, why Azazel had chosen Mary and John. Why he'd bled in Sam's mouth. Why he'd set Sam up to die in Cold Oak. Why he'd brought Sam back, given Sam back to Dean with no contest at all.

It was a set up. A huge cosmic set up, spanning decades and earthly planes. It was why he'd given John a new body-to play on their daddy issues, to turn them around so many times that Dean wouldn't know who to trust or what to do. Even their father's hesitant allegiance, his regretful reminders that there were some orders he had to follow. They were pawns in a chess game-Dean, Sam, John. All of them.

It was brilliant. It had worked-so far.

But now-to kill their father before his father killed Sam.

Was it possible? Would their father really try to do it? Why would the angels lie? But after everything, was their father really capable of it?

Could Dean really afford to take the chance either way?

Dean had spent his entire life trying to save his family, trying to keep them together.

Now, he only got to save one of them.

Only one.

And standing there, Sam at his side, in the midst of a war between Heaven and Hell, for the first time, Dean really didn't know what to do.


End file.
